


The Amazing Maleeni

by scullywolf



Series: TXF: Scenes in Between [148]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Banter, F/M, Food, MSR, Missing Scene, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 06:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8787655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scullywolf/pseuds/scullywolf
Summary: Judging by the number of times they change outfits in this episode, Mulder and Scully spend 5 days in L.A. So let's have a look at how they spent those 5 nights.





	1. Morning, January 10

She’s on her third pass with the broom in her bedroom when the phone rings. Leaning the broom against the wall, she grimaces at the sound of yet another missed piece of glass crunching underfoot on her way to pick up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Scully, it’s me. Pack a bag. We’ve got a flight out of Dulles in two hours.”

“Whoa, whoa, what? Mulder… you said you were just running by the office to check on a few things.”

“I did. And we’ve got a case. A really interesting one.”

She closes her eyes, sighing through her nose. “Mulder, I was really hoping to make some progress on my apartment today.”

“Did I mention it’s a really interesting case?”

Ordinarily, she might welcome the opportunity to be distracted by work, but the longer it takes to clean up the mess left behind by Donnie Pfaster’s attack, the longer it will be before she can start leaving the psychological mess behind as well.

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to handle this one on your own.”

“Well… I already got two plane tickets. But I guess, if you really don’t wanna come along…” She knows the hurt in his voice is mostly just an act. 

Mostly.

She sighs again. “Fine. I’ll go. But you have to promise to help me clean here when we get back. For real, this time.”

He’d driven her over this morning and helped for about ten minutes before deciding he should go check in at the office “real fast.” That was three hours ago.

“Hey, I was gonna come back. But then this case--”

“I know, I know. It's fine, Mulder, just… when the case is over--”

“We’ll get it done. I promise.”

She nods, even though he obviously can't see her through the phone, then glances over toward her closet, wondering how much she's going to have to pack for a trip in January. “And where, may I ask, is this case taking us?”

“The City of Angels.” She can _hear_ the smirk in his voice, and she shakes her head, grinning just the tiniest bit.

Great. At least she can leave the heavy coat at home.


	2. Night One, January 10

He'd really hoped she would be a little more enthusiastic about this case. What's not to love about a good, magical mystery? But so far, she's mostly seemed annoyed. As if she would _actually_ rather be back in DC cleaning up her apartment.

She's sitting cross-legged on the bed beside him, visibly fighting not to fall asleep over the stack of files in her lap. East-to-west travel doesn't usually hit her this hard, but he supposes the carbo bomb of takeout pizza they had for dinner isn’t doing her any favors.

That, and the tediousness of their current task. Running background checks on all of the pier employees is necessary for the sake of thoroughness, but it’s not likely to actually yield anything helpful in this case. What they really need are the results of the analysis on that bag of garbage they pulled out of the trash can, but those aren’t likely to be ready tonight.

“The lab probably won't call back til tomorrow morning,” he says, even though he knows she knows this. “You should get some sleep. I can finish the rest of these on my own.”

She covers another yawn with her hand, shaking her head as he starts moving to gather his things and get back to his own room. “No, I’m okay. I’ve only got four more.”

“Scully, just because you _can_ run background checks in your sleep, doesn’t mean you _should_.” He throws a soft smile in the face of the gentle glare she levels at him. “Seriously, get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He leans over to kiss her forehead, and she puts a hand on his arm.

“Wait.”

He sits back, meeting her eyes and seeing in them an unexpected combination of reluctance and chagrin. It takes him a second to puzzle it out, but then a grin slowly breaks across his face.

“Agent Scully, are you looking for an excuse to keep me in your motel room?”

She blushes adorably, looking down. “I don’t know… it’s silly, I just…” 

“And here I thought you were annoyed with me for dragging you out here.”

“Oh, I am.” Her eyes are still trained on the bedspread, but there’s a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. “And we’re on assignment, so it’s not as if you could stay here anyway--”

“I highly doubt the LAPD or the LA field office are keeping tabs on us,” he says, nudging her shoulder with his.

She looks up at that. “Maybe not, but we can't afford to assume that. Off duty we have some room to argue, but not in the field.”

“It's too bad we're not in Kansas for this case.” When she looks confused, he winks. “Just need one well-placed cow through the roof of my room, and--”

She chuckles, shaking her head. She knows as well as he does that their night sharing a motel bed in Kroner would go very differently if it happened now.

“Besides,” he adds, leaning in with what he hopes is a seductive look, “I’m sure if we combine our frankly staggering powers of intellect, we can come up with some ways to bend the rules without breaking them.”

“Mulder…” 

The way she says his name, it may as well be a complete sentence; the unspoken rebuttal and apology ring just as clearly as the two syllables she says aloud. He sits back again with a shrug and a smile.

“I know, it’s late. Or at least it’s late back home. And I was gonna get out of here anyway so you could sleep.”

“No, it’s… that’s not what I mean. I know it’s stupid, but it’s the actual _sleeping_ alone that I’m feeling a little apprehensive about.”

Again, it takes him a moment to read between the lines, and when it finally dawns on him what she’s been trying to say this whole time, how it wasn’t about sex at all, he feels like an ass.

“You’ve been having nightmares? Since Pfaster?”

“No, that’s just it. I usually do after… after something like that happens. But this time, staying with you, I haven’t. And, I don’t know, maybe it’s just coincidence. Maybe I won’t have any tonight, sleeping by myself. But just the same, I haven’t exactly been looking forward to finding out.”

Mulder shakes his head and pulls her into a hug, tucking her head underneath his chin even though the angle on the bed is a little awkward. He rubs her back in big, slow circles.

“You know,” he says quietly, “these background checks are pretty boring. It wouldn’t be completely crazy if I were to, say, accidentally fall asleep in the middle of working on them.” He feels her chuckle more than he hears it. “Plus, you know, jet lag can be a real bitch. Who could blame me, really?”

“I would think the difficult thing to explain would be why you were working on background checks in your boxers.”

“Oh, Scully, if you only knew how many background checks I’ve performed in my boxers. The number would shock you.”

This time she laughs for real, and he can’t help but laugh along with her.

“But seriously. I can stay here. And if you’re really worried about getting in trouble over it, I’ll keep my suit pants on, sleep on top of the covers, even. With files in my lap. The very model of propriety.”

“No, Mulder, I can’t ask you to do that…”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.” He kisses the top of her head, then rests his chin back on top of it. He drops his voice to a murmur. “I’m no stranger to nightmares, Dana. If my being here will help you avoid them, I’m more than happy to stay. Whatever you need.”

She sighs. “I appreciate that. But I’m going to have to try sleeping on my own eventually.”

“Doesn’t mean it has to be tonight.”

She pulls herself out from under his chin and looks up at him. “I’ll be okay. Thank you, though. Really.”

“If you’re sure…” She nods, and he closes the tiny gap between them to kiss her softly before standing and giving her shoulder a last squeeze. “Well, you can always call me if you change your mind.” 


	3. Night Two, January 11

“Hey Scully, take a look at this.” He spins the laptop around so its screen faces her, but he continues talking before she’s even had a chance to read anything. “That brother listed as Maleeni’s next of kin? He’s not just a brother but a _twin_.”

“Well, that could certainly explain Maleeni’s ‘performance’ yesterday morning. He lives here in L.A. too, doesn’t he?”

“That he does. What do you say we go pay him a visit tomorrow? Maybe if we ask nicely, he’ll show us how he pulled off the greatest magic trick in the world.” 

She shrugs, turning back to her nearly-finished autopsy report. “I’m pretty sure that’s the sort of trade secret a magician won’t give up, no matter _how_ polite the request.” 

“I wonder if we could get a court order…”

She gives him a look over the top of her glasses, and he grins in response. She shakes her head. “In any case, I agree that we’re going to want to have a chat with the surviving Mr. Pinchbeck. Though I suggest we focus more on _why_ he did it than _how_.”

“Oh, where’s the fun in that?”

A single, arched eyebrow is her only reply, but she fights a grin as she returns yet again to her report. _He’s cute, but he damn well knows it._ Mulder turns his laptop back toward himself, and they work in companionable quiet for a few minutes more, until Scully hits save on her document and shuts her computer down. She sets her glasses on the table and arches her back to stretch it. Mulder’s gaze is trained on her chest when she looks up, and even though she rolls her eyes at him, his look of undisguised want still sparks a flutter in her stomach.

She wonders if she’ll ever get used to seeing that look in his eyes, directed at her. 

He clears his throat, pointedly turning his attention back to his laptop. “So, you sleep okay last night? No nightmares?”

The abrupt change of subject catches her off-guard, but she manages to respond with a vague “Mm-hmm” before moving to pack up her work for the night. 

It’s not that she doesn’t trust him with the truth. (And the truth is, she did have a nightmare last night, but it was a relatively mild one.) It’s not even that she really believes they are in danger of getting caught, here on this particular case, if they break the rules about fraternization. But as much as she enjoys sleeping with -- or even just beside -- Mulder, she doesn’t want to become _dependent_ on him. For many years now, she’s relied on her own inner strength to get her through some truly horrific things, and the thought of losing that ability scares her more than she’d care to admit.

If he picks up on the lie, he doesn’t call her on it.

“That’s good. Not that I wasn’t hoping for an excuse to share a room on assignment.” He winks at her. “But I’m glad you’re sleeping all right.”

“I’m managing,” she says with a smile, grateful he’s not belaboring the issue.

He closes his laptop. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair. It’s Tuesday, so Dana Whitaker can keep me company in my loneliness.”

She blinks, again thrown by the rapid subject change. “I’m sorry, who?”

“From _Sports Night_ ,” he says, chuckling. “It’s good, you’d like it.”

“Mulder, just because I enjoy watching baseball with you, doesn’t mean--”

“Don’t let the title mislead you. It’s not _really_ a show about sports. Believe me, I was confused at first, too.”

She has never had much luck resisting his goofy smile and soft eyes, and it’s only gotten more difficult in the past few months, now that she’s seen that same look on his face in other contexts, under circumstances involving a lot less clothing…

“I guess I could give it a try,” she finds herself saying. “You could watch it here, if you want.” 

He beams at her, practically bounding over to get the remote and turn the TV on. She chuckles again, moving over to sit beside him where he’s already stretching out on the bed. He raises his arm so she can scoot closer and rest her head on his shoulder, and they wait for the show to start.

“Maybe you can help me figure out who Felicity Huffman reminds me of,” Mulder says. “It’s been driving me nuts.”


	4. Night Three, January 12

“That’s great. Thanks, Agent Shaw.” He hangs up the phone and looks over at Scully. “We got prints off that marker. One Francisco Alvarez, or Cissy to his friends. He’s done time for bank robbery but is apparently better known around here as someone who hosts the more-than-occasional poker game out of a bar in North Hollywood.”

“Well, given that Maleeni owed him twenty thousand dollars, I would ordinarily say that Mr. Alvarez could have motive for murder, except for one small detail.”

“That Maleeni died of a heart attack?”

“That Maleeni died of a heart attack,” she says, nodding. “Over a month ago.”

“That does add a bit of a wrinkle.”

“A bit.” She folds her arms across her chest. “Still, it makes sense to go talk to him tomorrow, anyway. At the very least, he can tell us the last time he saw Mr. Pinchbeck, or perhaps, someone posing as him. The date on the marker is only two weeks ago, well after Pinchbeck’s death.”

Mulder sits up straighter. “Ooh, you think the brother posed as Maleeni _knowing_ he’d be able to pin any debts on a dead man?”

She shrugs. “It’s possible. I mean, we still don’t know where the body was kept in cold storage. Maybe his brother knows more than he claims.”

“The plot thickens.” He waggles his eyebrows at her until she shakes her head, grinning.

“At any rate, I’m done here if you are. You ready to get some dinner and head back to the motel?”

It’s been a long afternoon in the cramped room the LA field office has been loaning them for a base of operations; he is absolutely ready to go get some dinner. 

“What’re you thinking, surf and turf tonight? I saw this great place at the pier the other day.”

She makes a face, wrinkling her nose. “Mulder, in the last 48 hours, we have eaten pizza, In-N-Out -- twice -- and burritos the size of small dogs. Would it really be asking too much to go for something a little lighter?”

“Hey, I know for a fact you didn’t even finish _your_ burrito,” he says, pointing a finger. “And no one’s forcing you to get steak and lobster. I’m sure the restaurant has salads, if that’s _really_ what you’d rather eat.”

“I guess.”

“C’mon.” He stands and holds out a hand, which she eventually takes, but only after raising an eyebrow at him. He pulls her to her feet, then reaches over to grab her suit jacket off the back of her chair. “If you’re going to insist on eating rabbit food for dinner, you can at least do it somewhere with a spectacular ocean view.”

“It’s pitch black outside.”

She… maybe has a point, there.

“All right, well what do you suggest, then?”

“There’s that bistro over by the motel,” she says. “Plus, if we go there, we won’t have to deal with traffic and parking over at the pier, or a long drive back afterward.”

He feels his dreams of lobster die in the face of her practicality. The traffic in Santa Monica is no joke, and he _was_ hoping to get back in time to catch the Laker game tonight. “I guess you’re right,” he says with a sigh, handing over her jacket.

She puts it on, giving him a smile that is not quite smug, but not quite _not_ smug, either. “Stranger things have happened.” He would respond with a quip if he weren’t momentarily distracted by the way her button-up shirt stretches and gapes when she pulls her arm back to catch the other jacket sleeve. She catches him looking, and now her smile is _definitely_ smug.

Has it really only been three days since he woke up curled around her in his bed, one hand nestled between those perfect breasts? Because in this moment, it feels like it’s been weeks. Forget lobster; now he’s hungry for something else entirely, and if he doesn’t get to the car here soon, his body’s reaction to that hunger is going to be broadcast loud and clear for all to see.

And then after dinner, he is going to be in definite need of a nice, long shower.


	5. Night Four, January 13

She’s almost asleep when the phone in her motel room rings, and she flicks on the bedside lamp before answering it, squinting into the sudden brightness. “Scully.”

“Hey Scully, it’s me. I, um… I need a favor. Would you mind coming over to my room for a second?” 

She sits up. “Is everything okay, Mulder? Your voice sounds strange.”

“I’ve got you on speakerphone. Everything’s fine, I just… um… I’ll show you when you get here. Oh and, uh, bring your handcuff key.”

“My handcuff key? Mulder, what--”

 _Click_.

She scoffs, pulling the receiver away from her ear and staring at it, as if that will somehow help her understand what’s going on. Then with a sigh, she hangs up the phone and flips the covers back, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing. She throws on a robe before grabbing both her handcuff key and motel room key and heading over to Mulder’s room.

“It’s open,” he says in response to her knock, and she opens the door somewhat warily to find her partner sitting on his bed with his arms pulled behind himself. At her raised eyebrows, he only shrugs.

Slowly, it dawns on her, and she has to fight to keep a straight face. “Mulder, were you trying to magic your way out of your handcuffs?”

“I just wanted to figure out how he did it.”

“And you didn’t think to have your key out and ready, just in case?”

“No, I did, but… I dropped it, and I think it might have bounced behind the air conditioner when it landed.”

She can no longer hold back a smile, and she shakes her head, walking around behind him to free his hands. “What would you have done if I hadn’t been here to rescue you?”

He throws a grimace over his shoulder. “I’d rather not contemplate that too deeply if you don’t mind.”

For just a moment, as she’s about to turn the key, her mind supplies a vivid mental image of a very different scenario involving Mulder and handcuffs, one that is decidedly not workplace-appropriate. It’s not something they’ve _done_ or anything, nor is it something she would have expected to be aroused by, so the flipping of her stomach that accompanies the mental image takes her more than a little bit by surprise. She swallows, shaking her head.

 _This case has to be over soon, right?_ With Pinchbeck and LaBonge both in jail, they can hopefully wrap things up tomorrow and get back to D.C. before her libido goes completely haywire.

The locks click open, and she grabs the handcuffs before they fall to the bed. Mulder brings his hands back around in front of him, rubbing his wrists briefly before sheepishly taking the cuffs back from her. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She tucks the key back in the pocket of her robe, then gives his shoulder a quick squeeze before turning to head back to her own room. “Next time, though, maybe leave the magical escapes to the professionals.”

“Yeah, yeah. Good night, Scully.”

“Good night, Mulder.”


	6. Night Five, January 14

The last direct flight back to Washington today leaves in 40 minutes, and in the face of rush hour traffic, they don’t have a hope of even making it to the airport by then, let alone dealing with the hassle of securing last-minute seats. Skinner gives them the option to stay in LA another night on their own dime, rather than deal with a long layover somewhere, and Mulder immediately takes him up on it.

“So what you’re saying,” Scully says when he gives her the news, “is that we are officially off duty for the next, what, 13 hours?”

“That is exactly what I’m saying.” 

“And that the details of our accommodations and expenditures for tonight will not be recorded on our travel report?”

He probably couldn’t smile any wider if he tried. “They will not.”

She glances over his shoulder out the window behind him. “If we hurry, we can probably make it to that restaurant at the pier in time to catch the sunset.”

“Scully, as much as I love the fact that you’d be willing to do that, what do you say we check out of this place and go find a hotel that offers room service, instead?”

“Now _that_ ,” she says with a grin, “just might be the best idea I’ve heard all week.”


End file.
